Two Russians, a Swap and Truman Capote

Columna
OpinionGlobal, 19.11.2016
Cristián Maquieira A., embajador (r)

In 1982 I was posted at the Permanent Mission of Chile to the United Nations. I was a thirty-two-year-old First Secretary and something of a hybrid in our Foreign Service, which was not famous at the time for encouraging young officers to gain expertise in a particular area. Chilean diplomats were supposed to be jacks of all trade, masters of none. I started out that way. As soon as I joined the Ministry I was sent to the Department of Latin American Affairs. Just a few months later I was transferred to the International Economic Division, and shortly after to the Department of Special Political Affairs to join the Law of the Sea team, on the obscure issue of seabed mining. I was included in the delegation to the Third UN Conference on the Law of the Sea (UNCLOS), a position I retained even when sent to Washington, which was a strictly bilateral posting. From there I was transferred to our UN Mission in Geneva, and spent four years dealing with multilateral affairs. By the time I got to New York, I was well on my way to becoming a “multilateralist” – a term of then fairly recent coinage in our Foreign Service.

When I arrived the head of mission, Ambassador Manuel Trucco, was travelling, so the Deputy Ambassador, retired Army General Alfredo Canales, received me. Upon seeing my C.V., he decided that since Chile had one serious problem at the UN – our human rights record – and I had the most “practice” in international organizations of the junior diplomats, I would be assigned to deal with that issue. Generals, retired or not, will always be generals, particularly when representing a military government. So, imagine his surprise when I declined the honor, pointing out that, among other things, I had spent four years in Geneva, seat of the UN Committee for Human Rights, and never dealt with the matter. My developing expertise rested elsewhere. He flew into a rage and accused me of insubordination, saying that if I did not do as I was told, he would insist before the Chief of Mission that I be sent back to Santiago. This, of course, did not happen. Ambassador Trucco explained to him that the whole point was to show that Chile had more reasons to be at the UN than to focus on its human rights reputation and he had requested a somewhat practiced delegate in order to be active in other areas. The issue was forgotten and I started somewhat getting along with the General although he had no sense of humor, which I consider a major flaw.

Case in point. General Canales once asked me during a coordination meeting what we called in the Foreign Service colleagues who had a higher rank, and I could not resist answering, “Fortunate, General.”

“That’s not funny,” he responded, and requested in no uncertain terms that I leave the room.

I thought it was hilarious.

General Pinochet had been in power for almost ten years and the rejection of the regime by the international community had channeled its efforts at the UN into strongly worded yearly resolutions denouncing human rights violations and not allowing Chile to get voted into any important UN organ. Official relations with other Missions were in a certain way determined by the prevailing politics. On the personal side, except with the Eastern Bloc countries and Cuba, which towed the official line down to the last secretary, relations with delegates of the other missions were more flexible and even pleasant. There was a prevailing affability and politeness, but occasionally you were reminded that you represented a cruel and despotic regime.

At this point I was assigned to the area of economic and social development between developing countries and industrialized countries. Among the members of the former there were not many at the time that could throw the first stone when it came to democracy and respect for human rights, so Pinochet’s Chile fit more or less in, although a left-wing military dictatorship was more acceptable than its opposite. Add the group’s prevailing mood of an “us against them” (“them” being the industrial countries), and I did not have any problems being fully active. Along the way I developed some interesting friendships. One of those was Sergei Lavrov, the now famous Foreign Minister of the Russian Federation. When we met in the early 1980s he was an uncommon Soviet delegate: intelligent, always impeccably dressed, pleasant, and witty; very different from most of his Soviet colleagues who tended to be aloof, humorless and wear dreary suits that seemed cut by a butcher. Notably, his command of English was remarkable, without the stereotypical Russian accent. While speaking in his mother tongue into the microphone in official meetings he would listen to the translation and many times would correct the interpreter.

When I joined the economic negotiations, he was a Counselor and the Soviet representative. Chile and the USSR had very hostile relations in those years and delegates did not talk to each other, so it was a great surprise when he came up to me once to inquire about Chile´s position on a certain matter. That broke the ice and we started talking regularly and even would meet for coffee at the Delegates Lounge. The first time this happened I asked him if he was not going to have problems being together with me in public. Laughing, he answered, “Not at all. From what I read about your General, you are probably in more hot water than I will ever be.”

Our common love of football (soccer) also brought us into regular contact. On Saturdays, he would organize friendly games between delegates on Roosevelt Island – the small island that sits in the middle of the East River. Upon learning I almost became a professional player in my youth he immediately invited me to every game. Forty years and fifty pounds ago I was a more than a decent goalkeeper, and on those occasions, we talked about nearly everything – except work, which moved us out of the sometimes-puzzling diplomatic niceties and into a more personal relationship.

Years later I was back at the UN as Deputy Permanent Representative of a now democratically elected government. Lavrov had become the Russian Ambassador, and we picked up where we had left before. We played football again and he came a few times to receptions and dinners at my home even though I was only the number two in my Mission, which was pleasantly surprising given that the UN is structured on a strict hierarchy whereby Ambassadors met with Ambassadors, Ministers with Ministers, and so on. By the time Chile joined the Security Council in 1996 we had a lot of contact in meeting rooms and outside. Since I had known him for years, I ventured to ask him for advice on working effectively (meaning obtaining information) in the Council as one of the non-permanent members.

He told me “learn to ask the right questions. You will get all the information you want if you are good at that.” “It´s an art,” he added. I am not sure I attained the level of an artist in this domain but nevertheless he was always very helpful when he could.

I recall his very effective managerial style when he served as President of the Council (the presidency rotates alphabetically among the fifteen Security Council members on a monthly basis) and his lack of patience with long-winded statements – to which he would respond, “Does anybody have anything to add that hasn`t been said before?” On another occasion an Ambassador known for his grandstanding in the Council was retiring in a few days. Lavrov asked what were his plans for the future, and the man said, “Mostly write and lecture.” In wishing him good luck in his new endeavors on behalf of the Council, Lavrov added: “Write to us; lecture others.”

When Council meetings became boring, it was well known Lavrov would doodle on a piece of paper, sometimes drawing caricatures of his colleagues around the table. He was good at this. When the meeting was adjourned, the drawings would be left on the table having served their purpose. Ambassadors would discreetly detour their exit from the room to pass in front of  Lavrov´s seat. If they had been chosen that day, the drawing would be picked up as unobtrusively as possible. If not,the disenchantment was visible.

In 2007, four years after leaving the UN, I was attending an APEC meeting of Heads of State and Government, in Sydney, Australia. During the official dinner for Foreign Ministers and participating delegates at the Opera House, I was talking with some of my colleagues when I heard a familiar voice behind me asking, “Cristian, you still smoke, I hope?” It was Lavrov. Off we went to the terrace overlooking the famous bridge and skyline of the city to have a pleasant conversation between old friends until an uneasy Australian protocol officer came to say that they were waiting for him to start the dinner.

The other Russian was Igor Yakovlev, a lawyer, with whom I had dealings with in the Law of the Sea negotiations before arriving in New York. He was a different kettle of fish. Bald with glasses, normally very serious and professional, occasionally he could be witty. Once during a meeting when the American delegate said in a badly constructed phrase “I would have to seek instructions, like all of us, from Washington”, and Yakovlev quipped “If it was all right with his American colleague, he would seek them from Moscow”.

We had known each other for a long time, but he made a special effort to maintain an essentially polite and formal relationship with me, notwithstanding the sporadic slip which I found amusing. He had served at the Soviet Embassy in Santiago during the Allende years. When we met at social occasions he liked to mention the “wonderful” weather during his time in Chile. Given the recurrence, I suppose it was his way of making a political point that normally went unanswered. He also loved his wine.

In those years, it was not easy to find Chilean wine in the shops of New York City. His craving was probably stronger than his official instructions, so one day finding me alone he asked if I could give him a tip where to obtain a good Chilean cabernet. On my side, I loved Cuban cigars, which were absolutely impossible to get in the United States due to the embargo, leaving only the Cuban Mission which was then out of the question, so I concocted a plan: a swap.

“Igor,” I said, “suppose we trade one bottle of wine for one Cuban cigar. I will give you two cases of good wine plus one bottle and you give me a box of Cohibas, Montecristos, or Romeo & Julieta, which should be easy for you to get.” The reason for this proposal being that wine comes in cases of twelve bottles while the cigars were packed into boxes of twenty-five.

“I could never do that,” he replied. “Any contact with Chilean diplomats is strictly forbidden.” (I guess Lavrov did not get the memo!)

Undeterred by his response, I went up to him one day and described the exact location of my car in the UN garage, containing two cases and one additional bottle of wine in the trunk.

“Leave a box of cigars and the wine is yours,” I said.

His only reaction was to say he had to go. At the end of the day when I came to my car, I saw a shiny box of Montecristos had replaced the wine. This exchange happened a few times and never a word, besides my hints on the location of the car, was ever mentioned between us. The US and China employed ping-pong to initiate a rapprochement; with all due respect, Igor and I used the so much more pleasant pairing of cigars and wine for the same purpose.

From time to time Yakovlev could not avoid having to discuss with me directly certain law of the sea matters, yet he was very meticulous about where to meet. It could never be at the UN building. On those rare occasions, I would receive an envelope with just my name on it and inside a hand-written note requesting to meet at the now vanished Peartree’s, a restaurant on the corner of 49th Street and First Avenue. The time was usually around 4:00 p.m., between lunch and Happy Hour so the place would hopefully be empty.

Once I showed up at the agreed time but Igor had not arrived, which was strange because normally he was always there before me. (At the risk of being paranoid I suspect he did this to ensure who else was there besides the waiters, to decide whether he stayed or not). I sat at the bar to wait. The only other person there was a small, podgy man dressed entirely in white, including his shoes, which he wore without socks. His clothes were very crumpled, as if he had slept in them. I was about to leave almost an hour later when the barman approached me with a drink, saying it was from the gentleman down the bar.

I took the glass and went to give thanks only to discover it was Truman Capote, famous for “Breakfast at Tiffany’s,” “In Cold Blood,” and other writings. With a wave of his hand he interrupted my expressions of gratitude and in his high-pitched, slightly southern drawl told me to sit down with him.

“There is nothing more boring or dangerous than drinking alone,” he declared.

His speech was somewhat slurred so he obviously had already had a few. He wanted to know what I was doing there, waiting for so long. I was deliberately vague, which incited him to speculate that the only reason could only be a hush-hush encounter with a married woman I was attracted to who would meet with me only in public places. Elaborating his fantasy, he went on to say her husband was perhaps rich, probably older and certainly of the jealous type who might keep tabs on her, so her fear of discovery and aftermath was stronger that her attraction to me.

“It is always possible to cloak a rendezvous in a restaurant. Am I close?”

Laughing, I said I wished it was something like that but, no, it was just a meeting between colleagues in a more discreet place. Nothing else. He clearly was not buying but left it at that. Only later did I realize this might have given him the wrong impression.

Changing the subject, I asked him a few questions about “In Cold Blood,” but he wasn´t inclined to answer; only saying it bored him to talk about his books. I then switched to lavishly praising the novel to which he gave an answer I will never forget. “Well, I´m an alcoholic, a drug addict, and a homosexual, but I am also a genius.”

People started coming in and recognizing him so Capote suggested we prolong our conversation in his apartment, just across the street, statinghe wanted to give me a signed first edition of “In Cold Blood” that I enjoyed so much. I excused myself, saying I had a previous engagement. I would have loved to continue talking with him, but given his declaration, the times he addressed me as “darling,” his constant feeling of my arm and shoulder, I feared accepting his invitation would be misunderstood.

One day Ambassador Trucco said to me that the Secretary of the Security Council had told him that the Permanent Representative of Bolivia had inquired about the procedure for entering an item on the Council´s agenda. The man had read about the relations between Chile and Bolivia and concluded that the only issue that could be taken to the SC was access to the Pacific Ocean and brought the matter to the attention of the Ambassador. Unable to confirm the true intent of the Bolivian representative, Ambassador Trucco decided to opt for the worst-case scenario. He was not worried about the substance of the matter, since the 1904 treaty had settled the border between the two countries. It was the debate that disturbed him. It was the perfect occasion for Council members to raise issues such as human rights violations, torture, free speech, and the return to democracy that had haunted the military regime since its inception.

Trucco thought the only way to nip this in the bud was to talk to the Soviets. No matter how they felt about the Chilean regime, the last thing they would want was a debate about international boundaries in the Security Council. It could open a discussion on the fairly recent Helsinki Agreements, so dear to the Soviet Union, which had settled for good the difficult issue of recognizing Eastern European borders.

Aware of my furtive meetings with Yakovlev which he encouraged, Trucco asked me to raise the matter with him. I met with Igor at Peartree´s to tell him about our concern and he posed some questions and requested additional documentation.  Two days later he told me that on the “little issue” I had mentioned, to his mind I had nothing to worry about. When asked if he could elaborate, he only said that the matter had been raised with the Bolivians.

Wine and cigars; who would have thought!

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